Page 17 of Rebooked For Us
“Word. Let me holla at you in the back.”
The music grew faint as he led me through the estate to his office. A few of his people were already in there. Nobody I didn’t recognize.
Mudd closed the door. The party became a low hum behind us.
He went straight to the safe behind the painting and came back with several tightly banded bundles of cash, setting them on the desk between us.
“Cane, I meant what I said today. You a solid nigga. You ain’t steered me wrong yet. I appreciate that. Three fifty on top of your fees. Don’t argue with me about it.”
I looked at it then at him. “I wasn’t going to. Nobody else would’ve gotten your reckless ass off.”
“That’s why Alexis copped this for you.”
He laughed and reached into the desk drawer. Pulled out a box and slid it to me.
I opened it. Audemars Piguet Royal Oak. Rose-gold skeleton dial, with the movement visible through the face. I put it on and looked at it next to my grandfather’s ring.
“She said you looked like a Skelly type of nigga.”
“This shit is nice. Damn, you must’ve told her what we talked about?”
“I talk to Alexis about everything. No hiding, no holding shit back. But I needed a man’s perspective on this one, and I fuck with you like that. We appreciate you for not letting these folks trick me out of my position.”
He passed me the blunt from the ashtray on the desk. I took it and leaned back. I rarely indulged, but today had been one for the books. I earned the Georgia Pie smoke that filled my lungs.
“Alexis is right about the watch.” I took a pull and handed it back to him. “And man, go on with all that sad lovey dovey shit. The plea was never up for discussion.”
“It should’ve been.” He looked at me straight. “Six months in, I was ready to take anything. You remember what you told me?”
“I remember. What about it? I’d tell any of my clients the same thing.”
He passed it back, waving me off.
Six months into the case,Mudd showed up at my office in plain clothes, no entourage, and no energy. Just a man who had been doing the math on what fighting could cost him. He sat across from my desk, looking like he had already decided.
“If they offering fifteen, Cane, I’m out before fifty. I just want to hold my wife again one day. See my grandkids. It’s risky fighting shit I don’t know I can win.”
I leaned forward.
“You want to be away from your family? Another nigga fuckin your wife?...” Mudd scoffed, leaning back. “Okay, I’ll do you one better, you want your closest nigga fucking your wife, at ya lil man games all on the sidelines at the games and shit, instead of you? If so, take the deal. But if the thought of another man’s hands on your lady got your chest tight, let me do my job and stay out of my way.”
I told him that fifteen years was letting them win something they hadn’t earned.
“Mudd, a draw is not a tie. You don’t both win. It’s an L. It’s surrender.”
“I hear you, but Alexis ain’t like that. Be cool, nigga.”
“I believe you believe that, and no disrespect to your wife; I love sis, but the reality is a lot can change in fifteen years. Day 1 to day 1,586 will look totally different.”
“So we fight? Take it to trial, although they claim to have video?”
“They always pull that video bullshit. I’m going to make these crooked motherfuckas do their job. You’ll regret not fighting harder. Don’t do it, nigga. This is how people who don’t think you deserve what you have move.”
I said all of that while sitting with the knowledge that I had done exactly the same thing. Gave up, thinking I’d have time to make it right.
The blunt had burned down to nothing in the ashtray by the time I came back to the room.
Mudd was watching me.
